Rain of Brass Petals
by UltraVioletSoul
Summary: Leaving the past behind proved to be an almost impossible-to-fulfill desire for, no matter how hard he tries, it still lingers in his heart. The present lies before his eyes, and the coming of a new era promises a new start. "My heart and soul are yours, and I'll follow to the end. I will go with you, even to the very pits of hell." Eventual NinjaTheory!VergilxKatherine.
1. Dream of Venice

_**Author's Note:**_

_Title inspired in the song of Silent Hill III, Rain of Brass Petals by Akira Yamaoka._

_And yeah, this is a VergilxKat pairing. I know that so far, in the trailer, he seemed to give a gerbil about her but I wanted to change that because Vergil deserves some love too! (I'm a helpless romantic ; A ;) and who would be the best love interest for him other than Kat? _

_Honestly, it would make a lot more of sense having her being his love interest than Dante's (no offense to DantexKat shippers ; A ;) since she was brought up by The Order ever since a child (as some official information states). And if Nero is really son to Vergil, then I think this girl would be more than suitable to be the mother, but it's just my opinion, of course!_

_I also warn you that this may be offensive to some of you. __**I absolutely do not support Nazism**__, and if you don't want to read anything related to it, I strongly advice to stop reading NOW!_

_My apologies for any historical imprecision… I tried my best, but it's really hard writing fiction and at the same trying to stay accurate to every little detail of the events in history, even after doing research beforehand._

_Anyways, I had to do this since it's been an idea that's been playing in my mind for a very long, and I mean a long time. I got my inspiration from a popular artwork of Vergil wearing a Schutz Staffel uniform; a few comments in a couple of forums that said people did not like Vergil's new look since it reminded them of a Nazi; and from new information of the DmC game, who states that Vergil was raised in a very rich family, and managed to become multi-millionaire at a young age._

_So, Vergil in this one has a pseudonym. Since Dante has the (non-canonical) pseudonym Tony, then I thought it would be fair (and logic) if Vergil has his own. I know he's Gilver in the novel… but that name leaves me 'meh'. I think an anagram makes it sort of obvious that it's him._

_The name Aeneas will have to do, then. He is the Trojan hero, whose travels are the subject of Virgil's Aeneid._

_My apologies if Kat and Vergil seem OOC. Vergil is just a kid, and the point I try to make is that he wasn't always the bad guy. And Kat… well, not much has been shown of her character other than she really is devoted to the leader of the Order, a.k.a. Vergil._

_**EDIT 10/29/12:**_

_The surname of his adoptive family has been changed from __**Braun**__ to __**Abendroth**__. Other minor changes were made, but nothing important._

_Also, a big thanks to __**Luxuria De'Voire**__ who has kindly helped me by beta reading this chapter ; A ; you're the best!_

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_**DISCLAIMER:**_

_I do not own Devil May Cry or any of its characters as they all belong to Capcom and Ninja Theory, as well as the recognizable elements of the series. I only own what I've made up with my time and imagination._

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_**WARNINGS:**_

_It contains NinjaTheory!Vergil, and OCs. __**Now beta-ed! **__; A ; forgive my strange English and crappy writing…_

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**Chapter I**

It had been raining pretty hard on that cold and desolated night, full of regret and bitter solitude of souls that could not stop looking back into the past, no matter how much they tried to forget and forgive the distant and unfair events that had scarred their minds forever. For lonely strangers that sought sanctuary in the shadows of a ruined place that once knew of days of glory and grandeur as they listened to the wind, howling its grief outside, that carried away the silent whispers of barren promises from lost days.

Drops of water heavily pounded against the already moist ground, as if punishing it for some unknown and trivial reason other than their twisted pleasure of committing a natural suicide, colliding with the irregular earthy surface almost eager to become one with their long lost love— object of old legends and tales on how Heaven longed to be one with Mother Earth, on how they bred their two children: the Sun and the Moon who, at the same time, fell in impossible love. [1]

Then, lightning lashed out at the dark and menacing cloudy sky, eliciting a loud and rather unpleasant moan as the thin and sensitive glass of the large window uncontrollably shook in the presence of a macabre voice echoing in his head that, little by little, receded vanishing into the obscure abyss of a forgetfulness that never gave him rest. And the white-haired young man feared it, for oblivion was the suicide of the conscience he had been trying to keep intact throughout these years— whereas memory meant the loss of the childish innocence he no longer had, as it seemed his hands were constantly covered in blood whenever the gaze of his frozen blue eyes fell upon them.

He knew that memory could be a rather lethal weapon_. _

On the top of a silent hill, a quiet, cold atmosphere had enveloped the old Gothic manor that looked even gloomier without any source of light to illuminate its untouched dimness, covered beneath the dust and ashes of an extinct fire. A now spoiled, unbelievable beauty that was said to have not been inhabited in some decades and, as such, held secrets… secrets that could easily drag you into an infernal nightmare with no possibility of escaping, and mysteries that could slowly make you lose your sanity if you were not prepared enough to face the ghosts of a horrible and dark past that still screamed its strong presence within the walls of Ulrich; a name that still managed to terrorize the poor citizens in a nearby town that had once belonged to the fief of the old Duchy of Prussia, back in the 1500s. [2]

It proved that it was not necessary for a place to be abandoned for thousands of years to be terrifying.

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According to the stories that went around, an aristocratic family once lived there— a young, blonde, Austrian woman of green eyes of good family, who was a delicate beauty that had been denied the blessing of bearing children. Her name was Maria, and she was married to a thirty-eight-year-old German man, who, unbeknownst to her, was the son of a man with a murky and shameful background as an SS-officer during the Nazi Regime in Germany. This man had managed to escape judgment thanks to a secret organization denominated ODESSA [3], which provided him with a new identity and a _brand new _life after the fall of the Third Reich. It might have seemed a little too risky to remain in the country, but under ODESSA's protection, and command to remain behind so as to plot their influence in political decisions in West Germany, he lived as any prosperous business man might have desired.

Wasting no time, he took advantage of the post-war economic miracle that had been born thanks to the Marshall Plan and the brilliant reforms that had been propelled by the German economist Erhard, in order to reconstruct the financial systems of West Germany and Austria. He put to good use his part of the Nazi gold and, using a figurehead as to avoid any rising suspicions from the Nazi Hunters, he founded a business enterprise in the capitalized region of the country that applied in study, research and development of mechanic engineering for new industrial machinery. And so, the empire of Heinrich Amsel, now Wilhelm Abendroth, began. [4]

And the crimes he once committed remained unpunished, covered in the grime gathered during all those years.

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Tormented by the sins of his father, and a childish obsession of ending up in hell– a fear induced by an overly protective Christian mother, who threatened him whenever he was caught doing wrong– Mr. Abendroth's son, whose name was Ludwig, tried to futilely erase those sins and make his soul clean by devoting an exceptional activism in the Christian Church and other organizations who supported those in lack of protection, which included orphanages as well. He did not do it out of love, despite how hard he tried to convince himself that care for his fellows was what moved him to donate generous sums. He always believed that by doing what he considered was the right thing, the horrors his father once perpetrated would be forgotten, and that God would grace him with a child of his own.

Whenever he thought of all the children that had been murdered in the concentration camps, whenever he thought of the blood all of this luxury had come from for him to enjoy, he could not bring himself to live in peace, for sooner or later, one had to pay for the sins of the father— whether in this life, or after death.

And every time his wife brought up the subject, he would become depressed for not being able to grant her what she longed for the most. He really loved Maria, but on the other hand, he hated himself for ever considering the advice of his father, who supported and encouraged divorce, so his son would be freed of that useless bitch, as the old man called her,to find and marry another woman who was able to give him the much needed heir. Ludwig did not want to think of the possibility of her beloved's name and reputation being ruined by such preposterous decision; he really wanted to spare her from the disgrace and humiliation she would have to endure should he choose the path of separation.

So, one night when they were contemplating the starry sky of Venice through a large window, from the warmth of the messy bed of their hotel suite after having made love, Ludwig spoke with Maria about another option that had been going around his mind for some time. In all honesty, he did not know how to approach the subject, seeing as he did not want his wife to be hurt or offended.

But when he saw the large smile in her lips, and eyes gleaming with warm tears, he knew for sure that the right choice had been made.

Had it not?

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It was then, in an orphanage near Rome, that they met a seven-year-old boy named Aeneas.

A rather peculiar child, he had an appearance that reminded Maria of the chilly winters back in their home in Germany, and the pure white landscape that lay in the once warm ground after the first snowfall of December.

And for a moment, she could not believe it.

The mouth of the Austrian woman had opened in utter surprise once she had spotted the tuft of white hair standing out amongst the sea of generally brown heads. Locks of hair, shining a tinge of silver in the light of a sunny day, framed his still round and childish face that, eventually, would develop to that of a mature young man— a downright handsome one, she was sure of it. And those eyes, that retained a glare of concentration under a pair of light-colored brows that seemed to be constantly frowning in deep thought while he read a book, gave her the impression to be blazing in the liquid fire of a blue glacial.

All of a sudden, her legs had grown weak and it felt as if her whole body trembled in anxiety, happiness, confusion, and fear altogether; like an epiphany had materialized right before her eyes causing a divine frenzy to spread through her veins as her blood rushed at the speed of an antelope running away from its predator. She felt like crying and her heart leaped with joy inside her chest, in such a strong way that for a moment it seemed it would crush her ribs at any given time and be sent flying to the air.

Her heart knew. Her soul believed.

If those stories she had been told since she was a little girl were true, if the Savior that her father had devoted himself for a life-time had once walked this valley of tears, she believed that, without a doubt, he must have looked like this child.

'Skin as clean as silver, hair as white as an old man's, a face as fair as the moon in all its glory, and eyes as glorious at its rising [5]. Remember daughter, in this form is how the true incarnation of salvation dwells amongst Men. A Watcher who looks after his children, He is the protector of this world.'

Those words still lived in her mind. Even after the passing of many years, she still could remember what her father used to tell her about the Savior of the world.

And if angels truly existed, she wanted to believe that she had one in front of her.

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His behavior was another unconventional feature as well. While other children were happily playing and enjoying silly games, he was always seated in a corner, trying to be as far away from them as possible. And in return, children always seemed to avoid Aeneas due to his unusual looks, often commenting on how weird or scary he was.

However, it did not seem as if he cared about being accepted or not; on the contrary, now that she thought about it, it was like he took pride in being different from the others. It was as if he was aware that this disparity between him and the world was what made him unique in such an almost uncanny sense that made her throat go dry in this overwhelming sea of cerulean moonstones watching her, scrutinizing her, judging her every movement in the taciturnity of words.

To the rest of people, Aeneas was a very lonely child in need of friends— real friends other than the ones he had in the books he used to dig his nose onto, trying to calm an unnatural curiosity that appeared to be more than simple interest. But to Maria, the expression in those pools of ice told her that there was more to him than the eye met; it told her that those eyes had seen things she dared not imagine, things she could not envision in the blindness of an ignorant mind. His calm demeanor that held a trace of melancholy hidden under the layers of subtle indifference was a giveaway to the grief that seemed to eat him away. The way he submerged himself in a world that was not real, and refused to let go of it, maybe too scared to see again what he tried to flee away from.

And she was uncertain what the secret his eyes concealed could be.

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The first time Maria and her husband approached him, Aeneas plainly ignored their advances not even sparing them a glance from his comfortable spot on the carpeted floor, obviously too focused in the reading of a thick history book that openly rested in his lap— which was… strange for a child, to say the least. She would have expected for him to indulge in a more uncomplicated and trivial reading, such as a fairytale, but he seemed to be quite interested and immersed in it.

However, she was not about to give up… not when she finally discovered the reason of his loneliness.

"Please, forgive his early rudeness. I can assure you that it's nothing personal, and he does not mean any offense to any of you." Carmela, the young nursemaid, apologized as she threw a sympathetic glance towards the child who had not moved an inch from his place. "He has been under psychiatric treatment for almost a year and a half now."

"I hope you don't mind me asking but, what is wrong with this child?" Ludwig cautiously asked, not wanting to sound too impolite. But since this matter of adoption could be considered fairly delicate, he thought he should proceed with prudence. Though he wished his young wife would do the same, or that at least, she would try and get to know the other kids some more and then decide for one, it had taken a lot from him to thrust some sense into her head. Quite frankly, Ludwig did not understand the reason why Maria was so persistent in her desire of gaining this child's heart. Nevertheless, if that was her wish, he would comply with it.

Sometimes he wished he did not love her so.

"Oh, he suffers from a yet unknown syndrome that has, recently, become the subject of study of a group of psychiatrists in Austria. A rare mental disorder that affects the development of children, it can be compared to autism but they're not quite the same—" Carmela struggled with her own words a little, a bit unsure of what to answer and finally decided to stop her exposition. "I'm sorry, but honestly I don't know how to explain it since this is just new information. I wish I could have been of more help to you two."

"It's alright. There is no need to worry about it." Maria reassured trying to smile as she nervously linked her left arm with her husband's. "Although we would really appreciate it if you could tell us a bit more of him."

"Of course, ma'am! That would be no problem at all." The twenty-year-old woman nodded her agreement as she returned the smile the couple gave her. "From what I know, he has been sheltered in at least two more orphanages, receiving treatment in every of them with different doctors. However, no visible improvement of his condition has been observed so that's why he has been taken from one children's house to another." The nursemaid paused and Maria could not help but compare it to what mental institutions do with their patients. "Aeneas is a rather quiet boy. But as you can see, unfortunately, he rarely ever responds to external stimulations from other people and, hence, can't engage in a normal conversation with them. It's like he dwells in his own little world not caring about what happens around him anymore. However, if there's something that I esteem it has to be his love for books." This time she added a light smile.

"I can see he has a penchant for them. I couldn't help but notice it, every time we came around." Maria chuckled, looking up at Ludwig with sincere eyes. "I can assume he has an undying thirst for knowledge."

"Reading every afternoon it's a sacred routine for him. Would you believe it if I tell you that when he arrived here, the first thing he did was searching for the library?" There was enthusiasm dripping in every word she said, and Ludwig could not help but wonder why the woman was so attached to him. "I even saw him reading complicated books of mathematics, astronomy, medicine; the type of books that some university students have in their bookcases merely as a decoration. One can think he would get bored with them, but I can tell that's not the case. You have to see the look in his eyes whenever he devours a tome after one, and I can only guess what's going through that little head of his." Carmela tucked a few strands of her light brown hair behind her ear, while making a brief pause to think about her next words. A frown had made its way to her face and lasted for a split second before disappearing. "Though doctors say that is only a maniac obsession, nothing special or remarkable… I can' agree with them. I think it's good for him. Who knows? It might help him somehow, someday. Maybe we have a little genius in our hands and we don't even know it." The more she talked, the more difficult it was becoming for her to suppress the delight in her jovial voice.

"And what happened to his family?" The Austrian woman saw an opening, now that there was a little more of trust and intimacy between them, and friendly inquired about the matter. However, at the mention of the kid's family, the mood suddenly slumped and the married couple exchanged some confused glances back and forth while Carmela made a face that spoke of uneasiness. For a moment, those honey-colored eyes of the nursemaid reflected doubt, and even fear, making the Abendroths wonder if there was something they should know.

"Nobody knows for sure what has come to be of them. There are no reports, nor names whatsoever. He just appeared out of the blue one day and that's it. For all I know, they could be dead since that's one of the most usual motives for children to be housed in places like this." Carmela quickly explained averting her eyes to the group of youngsters playing outside. "Aeneas is not even is real name. It was given to him by his former home," by _home_, they assumed she was alluding to the first orphanage he has ever been to, "seeing as all of his possessions consisted in an old book called _Aeneid_ that he has barely touched anymore."

"You seem to be familiar to a considerable amount of details." Ludwig observed, as he stroked Maria's hand which was faintly trembling. They watched Carmela who slowly made her way to the nearest window in the room, and remained silent for a few moments. Ludwig could not help but notice how distant her eyes had become, and it made a swell of qualm and reservation surge through his now stiff muscles. It was like the same fear that her eyes had carried before had been born deep inside of him. Or was it suspicion? Could it be they were taking something for granted? He was not sure anymore. Many thoughts crossed his mind at that point, but it was too soon to even voice a word of concern.

"He reminds me of a little girl I once met, that's all." She answered, turning with a calm expression now. "And I'm telling you all this because I'm very surprised at your insistence, since the parents who visit us usually barely spare him a second glance, going straight for the other children." Carmela once more turned her gaze to the outside, and brushed the tip of her fingers in the windowpane, a thoughtful expression on her face that sooner changed into a lighter and more cheerful one. "I have to say that really makes me happy! I wish he would smile for a change, but I don't think this is the right place for his fragile mind to heal. I strongly believe that some stability and the love of a real family will do him good. Heh but, of course, that is just my opinion."

"And you think we could be this… family?" Maria asked with wide eyes, unable to hide the excitement in her voice as she covered her mouth with her hands, clearly trying to refrain from squealing like a little girl. Her husband had to suppress a light sigh from escaping his lips at Maria's somewhat child-like behavior, forgetting his worry even if it was for a moment— although he could not help but smile inwardly. Even with her twenty-four years of age, she still acted like the nineteen young girl he had married some years ago; and if it depended on him, this would be a trait he would not want to change in her… ever.

"Why not?" Carmela beamed clasping her hands together, approaching the couple rather happily. "But please, let's get comfortable and talk some more. We could go and take a seat outside. Ah, the evening looks so nice! I'll bring some coffee or tea, if you'd like…"

And suddenly the voices in the mind of that child faded. They faded and left him be, be with the little world he had created to protect his mind from the horrors he had once witnessed; from the smell of death that made him want to vomit whenever he remembered the putrid stench of rotten flesh. The dizziness he felt and the burning in his legs that wanted to give up; the despair that had engulfed him before the sight of corpses and skulls. The horror and pain at the feeling of his entrails being ripped and devoured; the sadness and misery of not being able to save those dear to him, to help them escape from such vile torture; it all overpowered him with rage and guilt.

Memories… memories… memories he wanted to forget— he could try to forget. Could he forget?

And as that little voice that broke the new silence of his inert universe, inhabited by his own creations, spoke, he longed for the newfound warmth he perceived in his heart— a similar, but lacking of a strong bond to connect two souls, warmth that reminded him from a single woman whose reminiscence his heart held close.

_A dead woman…_

Aeneas could not help but cry, as he watched this rain of lethal and yet beautiful brass petals dancing in the air; these small shards shimmering in the moonlight of a bleak night, piercing and digging in his flesh, drenched his pale and naked skin in the color of the red roses his Mother used to love so much. He cried, not out physical pain, but over the things he had lost.

Time to mourn; time to find a way out of this pit of hell; time to overcome…

There will be a time to avenge.

One day.

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_Can you guess what this Rain of Brass Petals is? Yeah, it's something that will be explained… at some point of this story._ _Hehe._

[1] Loosely based on Incaic mythology.

[2] Ulrich has German origins and means, Ruler Wolf.

[3] ODESSA (Organisation der ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen). Organization of Former SS Members is believed to have been an international Nazi network set up towards the end of the World War II by a group of SS officers. Its purpose was to establish and facilitate secret escape routes, to allow SS members to avoid their capture and prosecution for war crimes.

[4] Based on _The Odessa File_ by Frederick Forsyth.

[5] Description of Zaal, the 'white-headed' King, from the Persian Book of Kings.

Aeneas is the name of the Trojan hero of Virgil's _Aeneid_. After Troy's fall, by the hands of the Greeks, he managed to escape with his mother's help and spent seven years travelling (that's why Vergil is seven years here), before finally settling near the city of Rome in Italy.


	2. In the Eyes of a Child

_**Author's Note:**_

_Sorry for the delay, but college has turned into a nightmare! ; A ; but, fortunately, things have been somewhat easier these last days. At least, I can breathe!_

_Also, thanks to those who have reviewed :) reading your wonderful comments makes my day ^^ so thank you very much! You people are the best! ; A ; THANK YOU, THANK YOU!_

_And Heinrich Amsel from Call of Duty World at War! O_O I SWEAR I DID NOT NOTICE THAT! I'm such a Call of Duty head D: well… actually, I have never intended for him to be part of this story but… in any case, Heinrich Amsel is not owned by me but Activision and Treyarch (?)_

_Hope you like this chapter, too. _

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_**WARNINGS:**_

_This chapter has strong religious references. If you are a fervent Christian believer, please do not read this._

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**Chapter II**

"Darling, are you completely sure you do not want to put more thought to this before making a definitive decision?" Ludwig asked, somewhat worried, taking a seat in one of the armchairs of the considerably large study with a tumbler of rich dark Hispanic rum in his hand— courtesy from an old friend that had probably spent too much time in the Caribbean coasts during his honeymoon with a Brazilian beauty. "We should take this with ease. Aren't there other children you wish to be introduced to?" He questioned with an arched eyebrow. "There are a lot of them and you haven't even bothered to approach them."

"What do you mean by that?" Maria asked, looking up from the bouquet of roses she was arranging in a Chinese porcelain vase, as a shocked expression made its way on her face at hearing her husband's words. "I thought we were through this, honey— I-I've already told you what I think of this, and I'm not changing my mind." The woman tried to sound stern as to show her conviction, but her eyes said otherwise. The bowels of those green orbs held uncertainty and fear– feelings that Ludwig had only seen once and he wished he could understand this obsession of hers with this white-haired child. "I want Aeneas to be our son." She stared at him, and his heart twisted at the sight of her eyes that now were full of hope and a longing to share the love that had sterilely been growing deep inside of her— a love that had been void of any kind of life and soul.

He still remembered her disillusion and pain; the way she mourned for long days when the doctors informed that, all this time, a baby had never been conceived inside her womb— that it was nothing more than a psychologically induced pregnancy. How could he forget the despair in her gaze when she believed she was at fault regardless of his words? He saw the burning need that scorched her soul in the flames of loneliness that had been burning for so long now– he had seen that look in her eyes many a times and he had sworn he would change that; promised himself he would find the way to make her happy.

But he did not want her to get hurt in the process.

"And I don't intend for you to give up on that, believe me. I just want to know if you are really positive about this, that's all." He paused and drunk a decent amount of the caramel liquid whose aroma flooding his nostrils was now so inviting. Usually, the man avoided drinking at early hours in the morning, but with all the stress he had been feeling lately a drink seemed like a good idea at the time. "You know that with a… child like him, it will not be easy for us—for you. What I mean is that—!" He gave a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his forehead, fumbling with his speech. The last thing he wanted was upset his beloved and sometimes too sensitive wife and, because she was an easy to hurt woman, he had to be careful with his choice of words at this point. For heaven's sake, he even had to go as far as to make sure she was not in the same room as his Father!

Of course, that was a little more difficult to achieve given that the old man had recently retired from business and spent more time in the house. Had it not been that he felt concerned about Wilhelm's welfare, which was starting to falter with each year that passed, Ludwig would have left home many years ago… but the moral obligation he had towards this man would not allow it. He could not leave his father alone now of all times. What kind of son would he be if he did that?

Honor your Father and your Mother. One of the Ten Commandments in the Holy Bible said. He could not break such an important rule and risk having his soul suffering the eternal nightmare in one of the nine circles of this ominous Inferno his Mother had talked so much about. What would his punishment be in that case? What would come to be of his essence –the small divine spark of God, as he had learned– condemned to this perpetual darkness, kept from the true Light?

Abandon all hope, they said. Once you enter that place, there is no way to break out of the horrors that plagued this city of Doom. And the more Ludwig thought of it, the more he sank into the velvety deluxe armchair— the more this imaginary weight over his body made him feel insignificant and miserable.

If he stayed with his Father, that meant they will have to inform him about their decision of adopting. Knowing him as he did, Ludwig was sure the old man will have a fit when the news reached his ears.

"What I mean is I don't want you to suffer, Maria. Please, don't you want to reconsider this?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know that you're anxious about this, but there is no hurry and we could always look for other alternatives. Maybe even try in an orphanage inside Germany. I have a friend of mine who works for the Family Department in Frankfurt. I'm sure he'll b—" His words were cut when Maria approached him and took a seat in his lap, promptly placing her index finger on his lips. He watched her smile, as she chastely kissed his nose, and knew that she was playing one of her last cards against him. The man knitted his brows and, placing the now empty tumbler in the small mahogany furniture that was nearby and served as a table, said in a warning tone, "Maria… Don't look at me like that."

He knew that look very well. He knew, by the way she pursed her lips in deep thought and her nose, that showed faintly wrinkles, that she was up to something— and he wished she would not keep him in the dark, for ever since their visit to the Vatican in Rome, and that Children's Home in Firenze, she had been quite restless and acting a little strange. Waking up in the middle of the night to find his wife standing next the window, curled in a ball in the armchair, or talking to herself in the darkness, surprised and worried him seeing as that was the way she acted after—

"No one said it was going to be easy, did they?" Maria whispered, caressing his sharp cheekbones with the tip of her fingers and marveled at the smooth feeling of his freshly shaved skin. "I know you worry, but I promise it will be just fine." Brushing her fingers against his neat blond hair ever so slightly, she noticed the subtle dark rings under his blue eyes that now were beginning to look dull in color, and her smile dropped immediately. "You look really tired, honey. Haven't you slept well last night?"

"I'm worried about you." His eyebrows were pulled into a slight frown as he rested his big hand on the small of her back. "And I've been curious as to why do you want this child so much?" Accusation seemed to whet his voice as the man made his question. "He hasn't even spoken a word to us and yet you act as if he meant the world to you. Would you care to tell me why?"

The blonde woman's throat went dry at the tone of his voice and she did not know what to do. Intently staring at her husband, she perceived the newborn traces of suspicion in his eyes. But what was a woman to do in such a situation like the one she was now. What was a wife, who came from a line of religious _heretics_, to do when confronted with her Christian believer husband? Should she speak truthfully, or be silent forever? Should she endure the harsh and bitter words that would come afterwards? Would she be able to bear his sentence for her to burn in hell? All these years she had kept this a secret, for the sake of their matrimony— for the sake of his love– and if there was such a place of dismay and despair awaiting the wretched souls of those at fault, as Father Müller said, she only hoped for her most cherished ones not to suffer that fate.

"You make it sound as if I had committed a crime." A small laugh of disbelief followed the sentence, while she reluctantly detached her body from his much larger frame. "Is it really that bad that I've taken a liking to little Aeneas?"

_Was it a sacrilege thinking that the Savior dwelled inside of him?_

Back in the Inquisition times, practically all of her forebears were tortured to death, hanged, beheaded, drowned in the rivers, or burnt alive for worshipping the _Devil_. Only a few of them managed to escape to more hospitable parallels in Greece, one of the places where Jewish people lived after they were exiled from the Spanish and Portuguese Empires, forming a small and closed community [1]. It was not until the beginnings of 1900s that their descendants dared to return to Austria in hopes of reconstructing the Ancient Order of Knights that had been split up thousands of years ago. But the faith amongst people had faded by then, and their base of beliefs that once served as a credo had become nothing more than a myth and an altered fairytale since everybody was too scared to even talk about _Him_.

And people started to confuse Him, taking him for other characters surrounded by a mythical lore: Sabazios, the nomadic horseman and sky father of the Phrygians and Thracians; Archangel Michael, 'the Great Prince who stands up for the Children of People', the leader of God's army against Satan's forces who expelled the armies of Hell from Heaven; Saint George of Lydda, the Syrian Knight who slain the Dragon with the sword– though others stated it was a lance– of Ascalon [2] and representations alike, all of which were related to the defeat of the Great Serpent and Tyrant of the World.

So her grand-father returned by himself with his wife and little son, but was not able to rebuild what was beyond restoration. However, even if the organization was lost, some principles and ideas die hard. Hidden, and untouched, they survived and prevailed in the core of this small family.

Her family.

"N-no! That's not what I meant by that—" He quickly tried to cover by delicately resting his hands on her cheeks as he inwardly sighed, almost disappointed. When was that he started to grow soft? Truth be told, he had been deeply infatuated with Maria, the youngest daughter of one their most important stockholders, from the very moment he laid his eyes on her due to her lively character and sincere words; but taking care and figuring this young woman could be a little too difficult, and wearisome, at times. There was only so much a man of his caliber could take— a man of his emotional caliber, that was. He never said he was competent, or that he was bright for the matter. He could never succeed in making his stone-hearted for a father proud of him after all these years— a father that never was at home, and a mother who constantly punished him for the most ridiculous of things.

"The Devil will come for you, one day, if you don't behave. He will come, and take your soul to Hell to be a demon's toy. And when that happens, abandon all hope for there is no way a soul can escape such wretched destiny," his Mother used to say with a disturbing smile after having tucked him in his bed and, then, she would place a goodnight kiss on his forehead— leaving him alone to deal with the fears that dwelled in the dark corner of his mind.

The horrors he saw at night after the infernal tales he was told before going to sleep were something he wanted to believe as illusory, as a mere figment of his own and childish imagination— but the hideous silhouettes that lurked in the shadows of his room, eerily laughing at him whenever he closed his tearful eyes silently praying for them to go away, the smears of blood staining immaculate white walls, and the cadaveric faces that looked at him through the mirror with such mournful expressions of suffering, were all too real not to be true.

An image of his most trusted guardian, his only solace for a companion. The only thing he had to do was close his eyes, and take his hand…

And then everything would be alright.

"Ludwig?"

Bemused blue eyes met troubled green ones, and it was not hard to remember the reason why the nights of sleep after his marriage had been the most peaceful ones in his entire life. It were those eyes that brought him peace— green as his hope of no more nights of waking up from his nightmares with violent convulsions and no idea of what to do in this frightening confusion and this unnerving feeling he had that this world of darkness was more real than reality itself. She delivered light to his life; she was able to make him smile and live again; sweet little Maria taught him there could be, in the eyes of a human, such a fiery faith in miracles that he dared not mistrust God's will.

"Ludwig, is something the matter?"

The corner of his lips curved upwards as he eyed her with affection, one of his large hands petting her soft blonde hair that barely reached her shoulders.

"Nothing, nothing." He lightly waved, brushing the subject aside. "Say, when would you like to travel to Firenze?"

And cue, her lips curving in an innocent grin… a cat-like one at that.

"As soon as possible."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"You disgusting child, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

The unexpected bawl made him all but cringe in pain at the tone of such hateful voice, that dripped venom with every word that was spat in his face, but Aeneas still kept his gaze down and on the empty metallic plate that had been set on the table. It blurrily mirrored his faintly taut expression in an indistinct painting of white silk and radioactive cobalt eyes burning in a blue fire. Very faint murmurs drifted in the refectory as the children that were lined at the long tables waiting for their noontime meal to be served whispered to each other, both expectant and anxious at the stressful situation coming about in the large room.

It all had started when one of the tutors stormed in the commons, a furious look in his eyes, as he screamed the white-haired kid's name to the top of his lungs, his face almost red from the exertion and from the heat of the moment. At such display of madness, the place had suddenly grown silent as countless pairs of wide eyes turned to stare at the little kid who did not seemed fazed at all by, possibly, one of the most strict and scariest teachers they have ever had the chance to know.

Piero di Cosimo was his name and, as some rumors said, the man was a frustrated musician who had never been successful in attaining his dream, and had opted for making children's lives a living hell just for the sake of it. A somewhat gruff male, he has been brought up by the nuns of Santa Trinità Church ever since he was old enough to remember what his name was. He had lost his mother and two elder sisters during the bombardments in fascist Italy, and his father, Cosimo, was an officer who had been killed in action during the Battle for Monte Cassino.

"Don't think for a moment that I buy your little acting of traumatized boy. I know you understand my every word!" Piero pointed an accusative finger at him as he narrowed his grayish eyes, whose pupils now had shriveled to sharp slits. "I know what you've done!" The broad brunette muttered in a thick voice while one of his hands reached forward to grab Aeneas' small shoulder, shaking him in a violent way. "Did you really believe that I would never find out, you little devil?"

"What is this all about, _signore_ di Cosimo? I demand for an explanation now!" One of the eldest Sisters that worked for the charity suddenly rose from her seat, at the end of one of the long tables, and intervened after having witnessed all the commotion firsthand. Being in her late sixties, Feliciana had devoted almost her entire life at the service of God since she was twenty years old and had known Piero for quite some time. "What is it that you have against this child?" She inquired rather demandingly, as her gaze scanned the space for a fleeting moment, catching sight of the younger sisters, who were trying to hush the other children at the back, and then at the man before her who reluctantly let go of Aeneas. "I'd suggest for you to calm down first and tell me what it is that has made you so livid."

"_Sorella, _this child— this _devil_," He yet again pointed at the white-haired boy with a scorn on his face, "is not the good little boy he wants us to believe he is. He's nothing but a disrespectful and insolent imp." Piero's eyes held nothing but contempt as he scanned Aeneas' face for any subtle reactions, only to be met by an apathetic air surrounding the child. "I've been told by a reliable source that he has been snooping around in _my _office looking through my personal stuff and, allow me to say, I won't tolerate such impertinent behavior and violation to my privacy!" [3]

"By _who_?"

"Pardon?"

"_Who_ was the one that told you? I want to know so I can have a proper conversation with them." Feliciana merely stated, holding a serious expression whilst she discreetly straightened her dark habit with her wrinkled hands. "A violation to one of our educator's privacy is not something to take lightly, you're right, and if you have a witness I'd like to know who it is."

"It doesn't matter! My word has to suffice—!"

"Aeneas," she cut him, raising her voice just a little above his, "is a child that has been under psychiatric treatment for over a year now, after being diagnosed with a mental disorder that has no real or effective cure as of yet. Just look at him! How do you expect for him to sneak in your office?" The woman shook her head in clear disapproval. "I would have expected for you, as part of this Children's Home, to be aware of this poor creature's condition by now."

"Are you implying that I lie?" Piero asked in disbelief. "You have known me since I was a child, _Sorella_! You've raised me better than that! So why would you think of me that way?"

"Let's move this discussion to my office, shall we?" The elder woman sighed as she tried to keep her composure all the time, not wanting to sound authoritative or make him feel offended at her words given that Piero was no longer the little child she used to look after when she was young novice, seeing to the needs of hundreds of war orphans back then. Her eyes darted, once more, to the mass of children beholding the awkward moment. "I'm afraid this is not the place for something like this."

But she was ignored as the man loomed over Aeneas, his larger shadow engulfing him in a dangerous foreboding that had the air shivering in restless anger from the look in his eyes, for who would have thought a mere child could evoke so much aversion and hatred in a grown man?

"I know you have stolen something from me and I want it back…" Piero finally admitted, growling under his breath while his fists painfully clenched at his sides draining the blood in his veins until they turned a sallow color. However, the boy only remained silent, still staring at the metallic plate in lethargic ennui as he ignored the man's pointless ranting, which only enraged Piero further at his seemingly offensive indifference and mocking unresponsiveness. Ignoring that the only thing in Aeneas' mind as the yelling grew louder and shriller, to the point of causing a maddening headache to spread in his brain, was to escape. He wanted to flee; to get out of that place of psychosis that had him living under the weight of awfully distorted shades of what he had seen before. The beauty of the world he once knew had faded in one wintry night, leaving vestiges of a fragmented past and a desperate need to block this appalling delirium of shadows and gruesome images that incessantly haunted him in sickening and revolting visions.

"_They'll come for you_." A voice had whispered in an almost insane tone, breaking the crystalline screen that concealed part of his true menacing nature. And it was all Aeneas needed to come to a stage of impulsive but protective fierceness at the fear that lingered inside of him and had kept him alive so far.

He had to get away as soon as possible.

"_Signore_ Cosimo! I am sure whatever Aeneas has done, he meant no harm! Stop this foolish behavior of yours and act as the reasonable adult you—!"

A swish of cold wind, the sound of flesh being ripped and the screech of teeth deafened her for a moment at their ill-omened tempo that caused her to choke in her own words.

It all had happened so fast that Feliciana did not even have time to prepare for the shock those pitiful screams echoing in the dining hall made her feel, while her mind frenziedly tried to handle the sudden and wild flow of pictures of this movie of violence. Her throat suddenly felt dry and tight, and her brown eyes seemed to be glued to the bloody hand Piero was holding in alarm and fright.

The man had raised his hand to strike Aeneas in his pale cheek, but then happened something he did not expect– nor anyone else for the matter. And it brought so much regret afterwards, that the gasps of horror could not be held at such unanticipated sight of aggression and brutality. After all, who would have conceived that little Aeneas could do such a thing? Who would have thought he could go as far as to act on impulse for the sake of his integrity? For everyone had thought different of him.

How wrong they had been.

_Aeneas_. The one who would not speak a single word, and whose voice nobody had ever heard before; the one who would give an empty stare to anyone who attempted to approach him, only to come across his lack of feeling and empathy at their smiles and friendly words— the child that cared not about the world around him for a reason unknown now had this eerie and spine-chilling look in his eyes that froze her blood at the mere sight of a creepy smile that weakly started to surface in the corner of his thin lips, in wicked satisfaction, as he unaffectedly licked the blood that had tarnished the cold and metallic utensil in his hands.

Those pale eyes shone with an unnatural dark glow as a sinister shadow crept on his soul in an ominous wake that screamed of nightmares and sins of a murky heart, submerged in the creepiness of a sea of blood.

And it was revealed to her that Hell was a place of torture and evilness…

One that could be seen in the eyes of a child.

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[1] I am so sorry if there is any historical imprecision. I swear I made research for a whole day before writing that! I've learned some history, which is interesting. Austria was for a very long time (between 1279 and 1912) under the domination of the Hapsburgs (a dynasty related to the Holy Roman Empire and the Spanish Monarchy). The Spanish Inquisition was formally founded by the Catholic Monarchs, and continued by their successors: the Hapsburgs.

[2] Yep. I know that this whole 'dragon slayer' is merely an iconographic interpretation of his martyrdom (the dragon represents both Satan and the Roman Empire); and I know that Saint George has nothing to do with Sparda since history says the Roman Emperor Diocletian had the former decapitated for his refusal to offer a sacrifice to the Roman Gods and his public declaration of being a Christian by claiming his worship of Jesus Christ. After giving his wealth to the poor, and many torture sessions in which they say he was resuscitated THREE times, he was executed. But to be honest, when I saw the statue of Sparda in the Anime (the episode in which Modeus appears) it kind of reminded me of him. And the legend of St. George (possibly an adaptation of Perseus and Andromeda's myth) where he saves the princess of Lasia (a fictional kingdom) is interesting, too! So, I guess that was my inspiration. Lame, nonetheless.

[3] Sorella is Italian for _sister_; in this case, a sister of the religious charity.

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_So sorry for the delay! And please, be patient. Kat will make her appearance in the next chapter (YAY!). I promise! _

_There's nothing to worry about :D nooothing! (?)_


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